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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27555391">Cold Nights</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoLady/pseuds/PotatoLady'>PotatoLady</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>It Was A Dark And Stormy Night [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adoption, Forced Prostitution, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Kid Fic, Kindness, Mercyfic, No Romance, No Sex, Slavery, Underage Prostitution</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:42:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,951</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27555391</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoLady/pseuds/PotatoLady</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(no underage between main characters!)</p><p>Isaiah has a recommendation for his therapist. But maybe buying a person wasn't exactly what she had in mind? </p><p>Idra just wants to make enough money tonight to earn a meal. He's cold, he's wet, and he's completely unprepared for the stroke of good luck that's about to hit him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Character &amp; Original Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>It Was A Dark And Stormy Night [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014144</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cold Nights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi, y'all! </p><p>I'm still working on so take those lyrics serious, I promise! I am slow and easily distracted. </p><p>This is completely unedited. I wrote it for myself as a bedtime story because unexpected kindness in utterly awful situations calms my soul, and I wanted to share it in case anyone else needed a bedtime story too :) </p><p>Love y'all, and thanks for reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rain dripped off of Idra's eyelashes, soaked into his shoes, and dribbled down the back of his shirt. The fact that he was smiling was due, entirely, to his years of practice. </p><p><br/>Well. His years of practice, and the fact that it was either stand here and look pretty, or face Miss Welsh's wrath at not making his quota for the night. The cold wasn't as bad as a beating, and besides, he was a few tricks away from earning a hot meal for today. He could handle that. </p><p><br/>So, when the sleek black vehicle drove up to the curb and halted in front of Idra's corner, he leaned back languidly against the (wet, cold) ad post and smiled at his own reflection in the shining window. He looked small and tired. His eyeshadow was supposed to be green, but the bright pink neon light from overhead made it look black. <br/>Idea never really understood why johns would pick him up. He never looked--quite right, in his own eyes. Certainly not attractive. </p><p><br/>Then again, he usually looked small and more than a little helpless. Not quite cared-for enough to be a child, not really, and certainly not anything like an adult. That was probably what they were looking for, in the end. The ones that wanted beauty went to the women. The ones that wanted power?</p><p>Well, they went to him. </p><p><br/>He just hoped that this turned out to be one of the gentler ones. </p><p><br/>The window rolled down at a leisurely pace, saving Idra from having to watch his own face any more. </p><p><br/>The man inside looked young. Dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes, the look that he leveled at Idra was enough to make him stand up a little, and swallow what saliva was lingering in his mouth. Sometimes he misjudged people. Prostitution wasn't illegal, of course, but doing it without a license was. The last thing Idea needed was to be the one responsible for outing them to a city official. <br/>Instead of issuing him a ticket, though, the man in the car looked Idra up and down with an expression that could not, in any world, be mistaken for lust. Idra couldn't quite place what it was, but it didn't make him feel dirty, like the looks from most johns did. Instead, it made him feel like hiding behind the ad post until the man went away. </p><p><br/>That wasn't one of his options. </p><p><br/>"How much for the night, boy?" The man asked. </p><p><br/>Idra kept his smile on. Practice. It was a wondrous thing. </p><p><br/>"Fifteen hundred for regular services. Two grand for extra." </p><p><br/>"Get in." </p><p><br/>The man hadn't specified, but it's not like Idra had any say in what happened to him anyway. Idra did, sliding across the seat as elegantly as he could. His wet clothes bunched up and squeaked obnoxiously on the leather seat. Idra winced. This was not off to a good start. </p><p><br/>"You need a towel." </p><p><br/>It wasn't a question. Idra shrugged, and hoped his smile looked charmingly precocious as he asked, </p><p><br/>"You've got one in here?" </p><p><br/>The man only frowned at him. </p><p><br/>"At home. Are you cold?" </p><p><br/>The window was rolled back up, and the car started moving again. The rain, which had been pattering over everything mere moments before, was utterly silent now, inside this little oasis of buttery-smooth leather and warm overhead lights. </p><p><br/>"Are you gonna warm me up?" He asked, trying to sound salacious.</p><p><br/>He sneezed right after, though, so. Maybe not. </p><p><br/>Instead of answering, the man leaned forward in his seat, pressing a button in the central hub of the vehicle. A vent opened in the hub, and a steaming cup rose up out of the vent. The man picked it up and handed the cup to Idra. </p><p><br/>"Coffee," he explained. "It should help with the cold." </p><p><br/>That was--not what Idra had meant. At all. But a warm drink sounded like heaven. Idra took it in both hands, half-expecting the man to spill it on him, or something--his price technically covered some light sadism, and coffee burns wouldn't be the worst that clients had done under that label. </p><p><br/>Instead, he's just handed his drink, and the man retreats back to the other side of the car. Idra takes a sip, cautiously, expecting the usual awful bitter taste of black coffee. He's surprised when it's bitter, yeah, but also weirdly good--like the expensive kind of dark chocolate, where it's like there's more flavors than in the cheap stuff. </p><p><br/>It's warm, too, and that's nice. He takes another sip. </p><p><br/>"Let's talk expectations." The man said, as soon as Idra swallowed, and Idra looked up, straightening his back. </p><p><br/>"Yes, sir." He said. He liked the clients who wanted him businesslike. Who talked to him like a person, if only at first. </p><p><br/>"My name is Isaiah. I'd like to be called by it. I don't want sex, or any kind of intimacy from you." </p><p><br/>Idra raised his eyebrows. </p><p><br/>"Okay, Isaiah," he said. "What do you want, then? I don't really--know much else." </p><p><br/>"I want you to drink your coffee. When we get back home, I want you to take a warm shower, put on dry clothes, and sleep in one of my guest beds. If you're hungry, I'll get you food. In the morning, if you want to come back here, you can. But if you wouldn't be uncomfortable, I can contact your employer. I'd like to work something out on a more permanent basis." </p><p><br/>Idra frowned, walking through the plan again. He couldn't find the catch. He frowned. </p><p><br/>"You wanna give me food," he said. "And clothes. And let me sleep?" </p><p><br/>Isaiah looked at him. His eyes were still--it was hard to read his expression. There was something there. It wasn't particularly kind, though it wasn't cruel, either. </p><p><br/>"Yes," he said. "That is what I want." </p><p><br/>"Okay," Idra said. "If you don't mind me asking--" </p><p><br/>"I don't." Isaiah said. </p><p><br/>"What exactly do you get out of this?" </p><p><br/>Isaiah swallowed. He looked suddenly uncomfortable, as if Idra had asked the wrong question, and Idra pushed himself up against the door of the car, ready for Isaiah to slap him and tell him to shut up. </p><p><br/>Instead, though, the man drew in a slow breath, and said, </p><p><br/>"My therapist told me I needed to stop living alone." </p><p><br/>What the heck. Rich men did not go around talking about their therapists. </p><p><br/>"Okay," Idra said. He was fairly certain that the man's therapist hadn't meant for him to buy a rentboy off of the inner city streets, but it seemed like a good enough deal as far as Idra was concerned. He was expecting there to be a catch at some point. Maybe Isaiah wanted to, like, have Idra follow him around in a collar or something. Still, whatever the catch was, he was being promised food. And a bed. And a roof over his head 24/7. That was more than he'd ever had. </p><p><br/>"I'm aware it's not exactly normal," Isaiah said. "What I'm doing. Most people would get a roommate." </p><p><br/>Idra wasn't going to respond to that. It seemed more like the man was talking to himself than anything. </p><p><br/>"I--have a need, to be in control over every situation I'm in." Isaiah said. "My therapist says it's a trauma response, but I call it being a bit if a jerk." </p><p>You said it, not me, Idra thought. </p><p><br/>Isaiah chuckled. Nervously. "Another adult, in my space, seemed like--too much." </p><p><br/>Right. Because he needed to be in control, and it was easier to control an underage rentboy that you'd just bought than it was to control someone else. Idra wasn't going to lie, even to himself, and pretend that he was anything but uncomfortable with the idea of being controlled. But then again--the fact itself wasn't new. Only the honesty of it. </p><p><br/>"That's not to say I want to control you," Isaiah said, even though, no, that's exactly what he'd just said. "I just--" </p><p><br/>He sighed, and looked away. </p><p><br/>"Nevermind," he said. "The long and the short of it is, I'm not a good person. I want you to live with me in an attempt to make myself less of a bad one. I can promise you food, a place to sleep, education, if you like, and I won't rape you, and I won't hurt you. I can promise that. You've got until tomorrow to decide. And even after that, if you're ever uncomfortable with me, or anything else in the situation,  you can leave. I won't try to hold you, we can find another safe place for you to go."</p><p><br/>Idra laid back against the seat. This was sounding like a pretty good deal. Food? Shelter? Isaiah didn't actually have to hold to any of the rules he'd set out, of course, especially not if he actually ended up purchasing Idra from Miss Welch's. But even the extent of what he'd thought to promise was telling--Idra would have been tempted to accept, even if all he'd offered was food and a bed. </p><p><br/>"Okay," Idra said. "I'm okay with that." <br/>Isaiah nodded sharply. He didn't quite smile, but Idra thought that be looked pleased. </p><p><br/>Isaiah didn't seem to require anything else, just turning to look out the window, so Idra imitated him. It felt strangely comforting, sitting behind the tinted glass, where he could watch the world without the world watching him back. <br/>--<br/>The first thing that Idra was introduced to was Isaiah's shower. He was all but rushed through the apartment with a brusque "living room-kitchen-my bedroom-your bedroom" before being deposited in the immaculately clean bathroom and given a set of soft black sweats and a large towel. Isaiah shut the door behind him with a final-sounding click. <br/>Idra almost melted under the warm water. He had to think for a moment about using the body wash and shampoo left in the shower, but he figured that if Isaiah had a habit of being enraged by small things like him using the wrong soap, it was better to know sooner than later. </p><p><br/>The body wash smelled expensive. Like, 'there's herbs in this shit that were gathered by hand and smuggled into the country illegally just for you', expensive. It also smelled good, and for a while, Idra was able to lose himself in the warm water, the feeling of being clean and not smelling like sex or latex or the dormitory full of all the other working kids. </p><p><br/>His nose was starting to run, though, and as he  stepped out of the shower, he coughed. The cough made his throat feel like it had just been turned inside out. He groaned. He couldn't be sick. Isaiah wanted someone who was gonna be quiet and there, not someone who needed to be taken care of.</p><p>He had to be well, at least for a little while. <br/>Idra tried to make himself feel not sick as he dried off. He had enough practice that by the time he was dry and wearing his (his?) new clothes, he had just about convinced himself. </p><p><br/>He gathered up his wet clothes off of the bathroom floor and went out to look for Isaiah. </p><p><br/>He found the man in the kitchen, and was glad when Isaiah turned around from pouring himself a nightcap and noticed him right away. </p><p><br/>"Your old clothes can go in the closet in the bathroom," he said and when Idra came back from putting them there, he asked, </p><p>"Were you hungry?"</p><p><br/>Idra hadn't eaten yet today. </p><p><br/>"Sure," he said cautiously. "If it's not too much trouble?" </p><p><br/>"Kid, you can just order something. It's no trouble at all."</p><p>Isaiah said, and pointed to the corner of the kitchen, towards the fridge. </p><p><br/>"Touchscreen on the front," he said. "All the restaurants nearby are on there. Money's no problem, so, get what you want." </p><p><br/>So far, it seemed that Isaiah had been exaggerating about being controlling. Not that first impressions meant a lot, but he was pretty much being left to himself. Within the bounds of things that he'd already laid out, sure, but Idra wasn't sure that he minded that, so much. Not when the things that were laid out were things like hot showers and eating whatever he wanted.</p><p><br/>He found a place that sold burgers. He hadn't had a burger in forever. At least, not one that wasn't pre-frozen and still cold in the middle. He ordered it, and some fries, and turned around to ask, </p><p><br/>"Can I get a drink?" </p><p><br/>Isaiah looked up from his own glass. </p><p><br/>"Yeah, kid. You don't need to ask." </p><p><br/>Good to know. Root beer it was. </p><p><br/>The order screen dissolved into a happy-looking green check mark, and the fridge dinged at him. Your food will arrive in fifteen minutes! The screen told him, with more pep than Idra was used to seeing from anything, even ads. Living rich must be crazy. </p><p><br/>"Food on the way?" Isaiah asked, when he was done. Idra nodded. </p><p><br/>"Okay," Isaiah said. "If you do end up staying here, you'll want to know your way around the place, so I'll show you how to work the interactive system." </p><p><br/>As it turned out, almost everything in the house was a screen. Isaiah showed him how to do everything from find books, to watch movies, to play games, to call outside numbers, look on the internet, and order groceries. Idra's head was swimming by the time the elevator rang. </p><p><br/>The elevator apparently only went up to the top floor, and then only with Isaiah's permission. Idra watched as Isaiah scanned his fingerprint to buzz the delivery man up. </p><p><br/>"If you decide to stay, I'll add your prints to the system," Isaiah said, while they waited for the elevator. "You'll be able to do things like buy stuff on the internet and approve guests. Though obviously, I'd ask you don't approve any guests I don't know about." </p><p><br/>There was a strong implication, there, that Idra would be able to buy things. He was about to ask, when the elevator opened, and the smell of still-sizzling grilled hamburger made him forget about everything but how hungry he was. </p><p><br/>Eating was a religious experience. Isaiah mostly left him alone while he all but inhaled his burger. When Idra was still finishing his last  fry, Isaiah sighed deeply, drank the last bit of alcohol in his glass, and stood up. </p><p><br/>"I'm going to go to bed," he declared. "Your room is the last door before the bathroom. Sleep when you want." </p><p><br/>And with that, Idra was left to his own devices. </p><p><br/>Nothing sounded quite so good as sleep. <br/>--<br/>Everything was fine until Idra walked down the hallway and into the room that Isaiah had labelled his. He closed the door behind him, even, and everything was still fine. </p><p><br/>He thought everything was fine until he reached up to rub his eyes and his hands came away wet. </p><p><br/>His breath hitched while he was still wondering why he was crying. </p><p><br/>Everything was good, right? Everything was--he'd had food, good food, and he didn't have to do anything for it, and--</p><p><br/>Idra's breath hitched again, and he sobbed, covering his mouth with both hands so that the noise wouldn't wake Isaiah. </p><p><br/>He didn't have to do anything for his food. Not tonight. Maybe not ever, again. How could that happen, just overnight like that? Stuff like this, it didn't just happen. It didn't.<br/>Idra almost choked on his own breath as he tried to stay quiet. He wiped his eyes again, and shoved a fist in his mouth. He couldn't wake Isaiah up. He couldn't prove himself to be any trouble at all, because he couldn't afford to lose a chance like this. </p><p><br/>It made him feel selfish. There were so many others at Miss Welch's who deserved a chance like this more. Who needed it more. But no matter how much he knew he should, Idra knew that he wasn't going to ask Isaiah to bring him back and get someone else. <br/>Tears still running down his face, Idra climbed into the bed and under the covers. Everything was soft, and warm, and utterly unlike Idra's only reference points in life of hard cots in the cold dormitory and being shoved naked against worn hotel mattresses Now that he was warm and dry and fed, he couldn't help but wonder just how many more nights of standing out in the rain he'd had left in him. It felt like he'd been driven nearly to a breaking point, and he had just barely stopped in time. </p><p>He was so, so tired. </p><p><br/>Idra covered his head with the covers, and fell asleep between one sob and the next. </p><p><br/>--</p><p><br/>'Human interaction!' she'd said. 'It will give your life a feeling of purpose!' she'd said. And he hand to admit it, his therapist knew what she was talking about. </p><p><br/>As Isaiah listened to the sound of a child's muffled sobs through the walls of his room, he had to admit that he was feeling a hell of a lot of purpose, all right. </p><p><br/>He'd bought a kid. That was messed-up, and he knew it. But there was no way he was ever giving the kid BACK. If the boy didn't want to stay, sure, that would be fine, he could--probably find him a family, or something? But he wasn't gonna go back out on the streets.</p><p>That wasn't in the cards anymore.</p><p><br/>The sobbing was getting quieter, and Isaiah closed his eyes. </p><p><br/>He was gonna give this kid the world in every way he knew how. He'd figure out what that meant in the morning. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I really hope this is lucid? It's like 2am here. Also, hopefully it will be a series! I want to revisit these two.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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